“The auburn-haired warrior is the laird’s firstborn,” Carrie whispered before pausing. “The other is Rowan … he serves in the Dounarwyse Guard.”
Something in Carrie’s voice made Fiona glance at her. “Should I be wary of either of them?”
A faint blush rose to Carrie’s cheeks. “Not Rowan,” she murmured, casting the warrior a lingering look. “He’s steadfast. But Ailean is a bit wild … and he has a liking for pretty lasses.” Their gazes met. “I’m sure ye know what I mean.”
Fiona grimaced. “Duly warned.” She didn’t tell Carrie that she’d already encountered the laird’s firstborn. She didn’t want to gossip about him. All the same, it was difficult not to admire Ailean Maclean’s tall, agile body. He moved with a dancer’s grace, sweat gleaming from the smooth, lightly freckled skin of his bare torso and upper arms.
Aye, the man was a feast for the eyes and likely knew it.No doubt he’s a conceited cockerel.
They moved along the eastern wall, past where the warriors continued to spar.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
“Carrie.” A man’s voice drifted across the ramparts then. “Aren’t ye going to introduce us to yer friend?”
Carrie halted, as did Fiona. They turned to find Ailean had stopped fighting and now faced them. It wasn’t Carrie he was looking at, but Fiona. Breathing hard, a boyish smile quirked his lips—the sort of smile that made her belly melt.
Aye, she’d been warned, yet the full force of his attention was devastating, nonetheless.
4: CONFIDENCE AND CONTROL
FIONA DIDN’T WAIT for Carrie to introduce her. Instead, she stepped forward, chin lifting.
Men like Ailean Maclean enjoyed having the upper hand. Especially over women. But she would start as she meant to go on here.
Confident. In control.
And that meant dealing head-on with the laird’s arrogant son.
“The name is Fiona Mackinnon,” she replied coolly, meeting his eye. “I’m Lady Kylie’s new weaver.”
“Ye knew that, Ailean.” Rowan cast his companion an exasperated look. “Ye saw us arrive with her earlier.”
Not remotely bothered about being caught out, Ailean flashed his friend a roguish grin. “Maybe. But we weren’t formally introduced, were we?”
He turned his attention back to Fiona, and for a moment—despite herself—she was entranced.
They stood only a couple of yards apart now, close enough for her to notice the startling beauty of his eyes. Fern green. And when he smiled, a dimple formed on his left cheek. She noted, too, the sensual quirk of his mouth and the slight cleft in his chin.
It was hard not to be flustered by him.
But she would resist.
“Well, welcome to Dounarwyse, Fiona,” he said, his voice dropping to a lower timbre—one that sent an involuntary shiver skating down her spine.
Hades.The way he said her name.
She imagined him saying it in a far more intimate moment. When they were alone.
Naked. Bathed in sweat.
Stop that. Right now. She jerked herself out of her reverie.
By the Saints—was the man a warlock? Only moments under the full weight of his charm, and she could already feel herself succumbing.
No wonder he had a reputation.
So much for confidence and control.
